We Don't Have to Talk About Love
by Ivory Novelist
Summary: Touch becomes Sam and Dean's new interpersonal language.     No slash. Third fic in a Soulmate Series, set right after "We Have Only Begun to Love." Gen with strong romantic nonsexual overtones. Set in the future of Season 6.


Third in the series. Chronologically follows **_Last Time was Just a Warm Up _**and **_We Have Only Begun to Love._**

**gen (with strong romantic/sensual/nonsexual overtones). soulmate!fic. cuddle!fic. future!fic. AU!fic.  
**

**Spoilers through Season 6.**

* * *

_We Don't Have to Talk About Love_  
by M.S.C.

* * *

Sam starts using the "s" word in public.

His initial reason-one that doesn't occur to Dean and one which Sam won't admit-is that it genuinely warms him on the inside to let the world know that not only does he have a soul mate, but that he gets to _be_ with his soul mate. [Not to mention, who could ask for a soul mate cooler than Dean?] After the original spark of the word wears off, he keeps using it because he gets a kick out of watching Dean blush a dark pink and mumble or nervously laugh or look away or try to brush it off as a joke. Sam especially like the looks people give them when he lets them know that he and Dean are also brothers.

One time, he and Dean are in a grocery store in a small Indiana town, and Sam, with a boyish grin, says to the middle-aged woman working the register,

"This is my brother," cocking his head to the left where Dean stands behind the cart. "He and I are soul mates."

The woman gives Sam the most blatant look of horror and disgust that either brother's ever seen.

Dean calls Sam "a stupid fucking douche bag" all the way across the parking lot to the Impala, and Sam doesn't stop laughing until they're a solid five minutes down the road.

~::~

They're walking back to their motel from the diner down the street-it's close enough to walk and tolerably cool out-when it occurs to Sam that for most of their lives, Dean has been the giver in their relationship and Sam the taker.

This is not to say that Dean doesn't get anything out of it or that Sam's never offered anything. It's not a totally uneven relationship. It's just that Dean is in his element when he's loving, but he doesn't know the first God damn thing about letting someone else love him. Sam, on the other hand, has practice doing both-though he admits to himself he's more skilled at receiving love than giving.

It isn't their fault that either one happens to be in the role he's in. When they were kids, Dean was the big brother in charge of caring for Sam, and Sam's only job was to be taken care of. Dean worked for John's love and approval because he thought he had to; Sam never did anything except be himself, whether John liked it or not.

And then there was Jess, who taught Sam more than anyone how to really give love. He had to learn how to be good at it in order to keep her.

But all Dean ever had besides Sam and John were countless quick fucks, a girlfriend who dumped him as soon as he told her who he really was, and Lisa, who did pretty good for a year but really wasn't any more equipped to love Dean in the long haul than Cassie had been.

Sam thinks about all this as he and Dean walk side by side with their hands in their jacket pockets, quiet as the night around them. It's not until they're standing in front of their motel room door and Dean's fishing for the key that he looks over at Sam and asks him what the hell's going on in that freak brain of his.

"Nothing," Sam says.

He decides he's going to teach Dean how to be loved.

~::~

Sam starts small. He lets Dean take first shower. He does Dean's laundry without being asked. He doesn't bitch about the extra onions on Dean's cheeseburgers. On one of their days off in between cases, he asks Dean if they can go get a beer together for no reason, and when Dean smiles in pleasant surprise, Sam feels triumphant.

Then, he starts getting a little bit more bold.

He sneaks out one morning at some ungodly hour, before his brother wakes up, and takes the Impala to go get washed and waxed. He convinces Dean to take a break for a week and then takes him to a spa resort in Colorado, where they have hour long massages and drink beer in a hot tub and eat food so good it makes Dean purr. There's a fireplace in the living room of their suite and snow on the mountains all around them. Dean sleeps better than he has in months.

Sam finds out that Foreigner's on tour and buys two tickets for their last American concert of the year, in Vegas. Fourth row. He doesn't even tell Dean until they pull into the venue parking lot. When Sam hands him the tickets, Dean takes a moment to process them, lights up like a Christmas tree, and almost passes out with joy. He loudly sings along to every single song they play, even the ones from the latest album that he doesn't like as much as the classic stuff, and Sam grins the whole way through it, unable to resist singing softly along to "Hot Blooded" and "Cold as Ice."

Sam does everything he can not to argue with his brother, to let him have his way or to compromise enough to please both of them. He notices Dean loosening up and smiling more and also notices when he starts giving Sam suspicious looks.

"All right," Dean says after a month goes by of Sam making his life easier. "What's this about?"

"What's what about?"

Sam's on his laptop in their room, and Dean's just come back from picking up dinner.

"The whole 'nice' thing. You've been going out of your way for weeks, which means either you're waiting to ask me for something or you screwed up and you want me in a good mood when you confess."

Sam scoffs and raises his eyebrows.

"Dean-I haven't _done _anything. And I don't want anything. I just decided to be nice."

"Uh-huh. You know it's gonna have to come out some time. I mean, don't get me wrong, I've been enjoying it. But I'd also like the truth."

"That is the truth, I swear. I was just thinking and... I realized you're so used to doing things for other people but you don't know how to let them do things for you. So, I'm making you learn."

Dean rolls his eyes and takes his bag of food over to his bed, leaving Sam's on the table next to the laptop.

"Whatever, Sam. If you don't wanna tell me now, I guess I can wait."

"Dude. Seriously. No ulterior motive. You need to learn how to be loved."

"How to be _what_? Jesus, as if you weren't already the world's biggest pussy."

"It's true. And now that I've been mulling it over for a while, I've decided it isn't just important for you but for us. If we're going to be soul mates, we have to make our relationship better, not just keep it in the same rut it's been in for the last few years."

Dean's staring at Sam with an expression of disbelief so emphatic that he doesn't really need to say anything. But he does.

"Okay. First of all? That is the gayest thing I've ever heard. Ever. And second of all, I don't know what you're talking about. I've always given one hundred percent in our _relationship,_ God, I feel like a girl-"

"That's just it, Dean. You _give_, too much almost, but you don't know how to receive. You don't know how to let someone actually give you what _you_ need."

"I have everything I need, Sam. I got food in my stomach and a warm place to sleep and my baby to drive and you're back to normal and no one's dead or dying. Trust me, I'm good."

Sam's getting frustrated now, as indicated by the way his nostrils flare when he exhales, like an irritated horse.

"That's not what I mean. Those are all physiological. I mean your emotional needs, Dean."

"Sam. If this conversation gets any gayer, I swear to God, I'll go eat in the car."

Sam gets up and crosses the room, sits on the empty side of Dean's bed, facing his brother who's got his back against the pillows and one leg stretched out in front of him.

"I just wanna do things for you like you've always done for me," he says. "And I want you to feel like-like I love you, instead of just knowing it."

Dean begins to bolt upright and off the bed, but Sam snatches the paper bag out of his hand and sets it on the floor next to his feet. Dean gives him an exasperated look.

"Dude. We've had enough chick flick moments in the last few months to last us the rest of our lives. Or at least the next decade. I'm really, really not interested in having another one."

"Grow up, man. I'm trying to improve our lives here-because if you're serious about sticking together, we can't do it the way we've been doing it. We'll never be happy enough. You gotta want more than just getting by."

Dean stares at him, sobered by the implication (though it's more his own reading into it than Sam's intention) that Sam might consider separating if Dean doesn't take him seriously. Even so, he really doesn't want have this conversation.

"So what do you want from me?" he says, voice lowered now.

"For starters, let me keep being nice to you." says Sam. "And... if you can, tell me what you're missing."

"What I'm missing?"

"Yeah. Like, what you want to feel that you don't and what you need me to do so you can."

Dean decides that this is officially the gayest conversation he's ever had. And that's taking into account the one where he asked Sam to be his life partner and the one where he stopped Sam from killing himself.

But, he reasons with himself, maybe if he gets this over with, Sam will leave him alone to eat his dinner in peace.

He just can't bear to start answering.

"I dunno, man. I don't sit around contemplating this shit. I just-I feel how I feel in any given moment. The last few weeks have been nice, I guess I feel better because of that. What am I supposed to feel?"

"Loved."

"God. It's not an issue, okay? I love you, you love me, and all that Barney crap. Now will you please give me my food?"

"Dean. Tell me how I can make you feel loved."

"I don't know! Okay? I have no idea. Just leave it alone."

And Sam believes him, suspected it even. He quirks his mouth in sadness, picks Dean's bag up off the floor and hands it back, gets up from the bed and returns to his chair. Dean watches him go, agitated and sorry to disappoint Sam at the same time; he unwraps his sandwich and starts eating, assuming they'll drop the subject for good now.

But minutes go by of Sam idly fooling around online as he thinks, and by the time Dean eats the last of his sandwich, Sam's got an idea.

Dean's always been a tactile guy. Sam believes that of all the times they touch each other, Dean initiates more than he does, though it contradicts his surface persona. This gets Sam to thinking about how they're both, but Dean especially, men of action rather than words. Maybe he was going about it the right way up until now, with _doing_ things to make Dean feel cared for.

He gets to his feet.

"Lie down," he says.

Dean reacts with a spooked expression.

"Why? You moving on to actual gay activities now instead of conversation?"

"Quit being an ass, and just humor me."

Dean watches Sam warily but moves around on the bed so he's lying in the middle. Sam sits next to him on his right and stretches out his left leg in front of him, right foot still on the floor. He motions for Dean to rest his head on Sam's thigh, and Dean rolls his eyes, almost protesting out loud. Sam waits, expectant bitch face, and Dean gives in after a few seconds.

He is at first lying at an awkward angle over half of the bed, body diagonal and head on Sam's thigh. Sam carefully reaches his left hand down and presses his fingers against Dean's neck. They're cold and the slightest shiver runs through Dean's body. Dean feels so gay. _So gay_. They're sober and neither one of them's dying. This kind of thing isn't supposed to happen.

But then Sam starts massaging Dean's neck, thumb and forefinger making little circles where they press, and it feels good. Sam doesn't say a word, and Dean doesn't look up at him. Eventually, Dean relaxes into it, closes his eyes and tells himself that he's only doing this so that he doesn't have to talk to Sam.

He rolls onto his side, folds his body and lays his hand on Sam's leg, face still on Sam's thigh. And Sam smiles, mostly because Dean isn't watching. Sam cups the back of Dean's neck with his whole hand and persists at his rubbing.

This, he can do. This, Dean will let him do.

Sam figures once they make it routine, Dean may even stop bitching about it and let it be.

~::~

They don't talk about it. Any of it. Dean would die of embarrassment, and Sam doesn't want to jeopardize all the progress they're making. Dean just shoots his brother an never ending stream of pissy looks, as if to make it clear that he's only allowing Sam to do all this for the sake of peace between them. But Sam knows Dean likes it.

At first, it's limited to the privacy of their motel rooms or the Impala. Sam rests a hand on the back of Dean's neck while Dean drives. One time, Sam-who's actually nervous about upping his game now-surprises Dean while his brother's in the bathroom brushing his teeth; he wraps himself around Dean from behind, chin down in Dean's shoulder. Dean doesn't look pleased but he never tries to shakes Sam away.

Dean gets himself hurt on a hunt, a slash through his upper arm that's big enough and deep enough for Sam to clean and suture shut, wrap his brother's arm in bandage, and when he's done, he hooks his arm across Dean's chest, hand on his brother's head, and pulls him close, kisses Dean's hair.

When Dean actually stays there, leaning into Sam's chest, Sam lets him and silently considers this his brother's way of surrendering and dropping the protest show.

Then, they touch knees under the table in restaurants. Dean's always reaching out to touch Sam for no reason, discreet but meaningful. Sam mentally catalogs every time. When they're walking side by side and there's no one around, on some dirt road in the middle of nowhere, Dean puts his arm around Sam's back, hand on Sam's shoulder, and Sam does the same.

Dean won't hold hands because even now, that feels too gay, but Sam figures he wouldn't mind actually doing it if Sam's the one who starts...

Dean's arguing with Crowley, who's being a royal asshole without any of his old charm, and Sam can see it's going nowhere, making Dean feel powerless and defeated. So Sam steps up alongside his brother and takes his hand without any fuss. Dean looks over at him but doesn't let go. Not even when Crowley snorts, smirks, and cracks a joke.

They reach the point where they use hugging as a way of consoling each other or resolving an argument that doesn't get totally out of hand.

Once, Dean comes around after being out and finds Sam sitting on the end of his bed, head in his hands, stressed out and experiencing residual pain and guilt from his year and half in hell. They don't even begin to talk. Dean just sits behind him, reaches both hands up to Sam's shoulders, and starts giving his brother a rub down. When he stops, he moves in and rests his head and his torso against Sam's back.

Sam can feel the tenderness.

~::~

The cuddling is what he's been working his way up to. He doesn't know why but he's had this gut feeling ever since he started this whole quest that what would solidify Dean's sense of Sam's love for him would be to have his brother as close as possible just for the hell of it, longer than a few minutes.

But even with how far they've come in the last couple months, Sam knows this might take some easing into. Hell, it took Sam this long to adjust to the idea. Only people he's ever cuddled are girls he's fooled around with, and even then, only some of them.

But the more he waits, the stronger his own urge to do it becomes. He starts getting grabby, even in public, and while Dean's tolerance for Sam's touch is now exponentially increased from what it was most of their adult lives, he still starts giving his brother weird looks. He can tell something's up, but when he asks, Sam just gives him the Bitch Face of Epic Annoyance and Frustration. Dean decides to let it go.

It isn't until one night when Sam's crying at 3-something AM, sure that Dean's asleep, that it happens. Sam does most of his brooding at night, when he's trying to sleep but can't, because that's one of the few times he doesn't have to worry about his brother seeing him do it. He's got the silent weeping pretty much down, except for the occasional sniffle.

But, God damn him-Dean's just too attuned to Sam's distress for their own good. So Dean pretends to be asleep for half an hour as he listens to Sam sniffle every few minutes. After that, he can't take it anymore.

They've both really adapted to this "no talking, touch instead" thing, so Dean doesn't even think to ask Sam what's wrong. He just gets out of his own bed and moves over to Sam's, startling Sam enough that he jerks back and unintentionally leaves space for Dean.

At first, when Dean lies down, Sam rolls over to give his back to him. The concept of Dean getting into bed with him under non-fatal circumstances is still such a surprise, that he assumes his brother's only intention is to comfort him through physical nearness.

But then Dean is pulling him by the shoulder, and Sam rolls toward him and onto his other side, facing him in the dark. They look at each other, even though they can't see more than silhouettes, and Dean doesn't stall very long before he's pushing Sam again, wants him facing away. Sam gets the message and moves.

What he doesn't expect is for Dean to push himself up against Sam's back, wrap an arm around his brother and lay his hand on Sam's chest, over his heart. Dean rests his face on the back of Sam's shoulder, body copying the shape of Sam's, and Sam breathes relief.

They start booking rooms with one queen sized bed after that. Dean doesn't even care. Sam's the one that's gotta go in and make the reservation, though, because he isn't self-conscious about it the way Dean still is.

Fuck it, Sam thinks. Let people assume they're gay.

An old woman manning a motel check-in peers past Sam and sees Dean standing by the car outside.

"He's my soul mate," Sam says.

Thank God.

~::~

So it happens that every night, unless one or both of them disappear with a woman until morning, that Sam and Dean fall asleep pressed together. They sleep better and feel more awake and something of their anxious energy melts away. Sometimes, Dean spoons Sam and kisses the back of Sam's shoulder and feels like the world's ultimate big brother. (And Sam knows the texture of Dean's love for him better than ever before.) Sometimes, Sam spoons Dean, holds him tight with his ridiculously muscular arm and makes Dean feel smaller than he is, dwarfed against Sam's enormous body and finally full of Sam's love. (And Sam feels victorious.) Sometimes, they face each other, one of them with his head in the other's chest. They're lulled by each other's warmth and puffs of breath and smell and heartbeat.

Sometimes, they wake up and just lie together for a while, reluctant to get out of bed. They're quiet then. When one of them's in a particularly good mood, he'll sit up and bend down and kiss his brother's hairline with a great, big smile-as if to say, _Fuck, I love you more than anything; I can't believe I get to stay with you._

They never talk about it. And it isn't awkward. Sam doesn't ask again if Dean feels loved enough. He just looks for the answer in the way his brother moves or smiles or sleeps or sounds. And he's satisfied.

What's funny is, something else happens that Sam hadn't expected. He feels more loved too.

Yeah, Dean's still bossy-but Sam doesn't care so much anymore.

~::~

Dean starts using the "s" word in public.

For the first time in his life, Sam feels like maybe they'll get to stay happy after all.


End file.
